by Love Belvin
I caught the performer on the stage and observed him belting out the lyrics to Anthony David’s “Let Me In” as he read a monitor positioned in front and above him, in a place where he could follow inconspicuously. Dude was doing a stellar job of it. And that’s when it hit me: There was live instrumentation. That rewound my memory back to my previous visit here when Jackson had Greg try out the new grand piano. He was purchasing instruments for karaoke. That was a different take considering the potential blips one could make while trying to sing.
“Elle!” I heard my name from behind me. Anthony must’ve heard it, too, because he turned before I did. “We’re sitting over there!” Bridgette spoke over the music then waved for us to follow her.
Anthony took the lead, threading through the crowds after Bridgette until we stopped in front of a huge booth full of familiar faces.
“Well, damn!” Jamie exclaimed. “You the man, Elle.”
I rolled my eyes at his private jib about me showing with a new man when I’d had Michael escort me to the firm’s dinner. But this was different; there was less masquerading. I was actually dating Anthony…well, pseudo dating Anthony.
“Ha!” I gave a faux laugh and lifted my index finger to indicate I was on to his joke. Then I immediately rolled my eyes to convey that I wasn’t appreciative of it. “Hey, everybody! This is a friend of mine, Anthony.”
Everyone greeted and I went around the table naming Bridgette, her fiancé, Jamie and some unknown woman, a salty Marie who was alone, Brad with his girlfriend, Tim and a woman I’d never met, and…
“Hi! I’m Ashley, the boss’ friend,” she made sure to do her own introduction.
Anthony rolled with it, being polite. I noticed Ashley giving my date a onceover, but not quite picking up why. Anthony’s robust frame was in a tan v-neck sweater, blue jeans and brown Eastland’s. His smooth caramel bald head glistened, his rectangular frames fitting his face perfectly, and his pot belly just barely announced. I could get used to that. But what had Ashley sizing him up was beyond me. Knowing her, she thought he was old. Or maybe not, considering her number slip to Michael. I still hadn’t shared that with Jackson.
Also, I couldn’t deny the twinge of annoyance I felt when she would show to events with Jackson. Where in the hell was Stephanie?
“I’m gonna get us a drink,” Anthony informed, oblivious to being stared at. “What are you having?”
“A lemon drop…more on the sour side for her.” That familiar tenor caused me to leap in my heels. I turned and glared at him. He angled his chin. “Or would you prefer Riesling? They may not have a 2006 Egon Muller Scharzhofberger Auslese, but I happen to know they do have something comparable in stock. And what about you?”
“Oh, I’ll take a Yuengling…light.” I vaguely heard Anthony while observing Jackson’s tall, lean frame in all black.
His beard appeared thicker and just as well-manicured, if not more, than last night when he was at my apartment playing holistic healer. His eyes struggled against their inclination to strain as Jackson attempted to appear casual. I found my chest rising and falling. Damn him for being so attractive even standing next to my date. His mouth moved, but I wasn’t concerned with what he was saying. I found myself curious about what it felt like again against my own. I felt a nudge.
My neck swiftly jolted over to Anthony.
“Uhhhh… Anthony, this Jackson…” I cleared my throat. “Umm…Jackson Hunter. He’s the head of my subsidiary…well…ummm…firm.” I couldn’t meet Jackson’s eyes again.
“Nice to meet the man who signs your paycheck.” Anthony jeered. “I think he’s waiting on your order, though.”
Oh…
“Ummm…” My eyes skirted past Jackson’s. “I’ll take that lemon drop. Thanks.”
Shit! The bastard has the nerve to be amused.
“I’ll be right back with your order.” I caught the sneer in his tone as he gaited past us toward the bar.
The table made room for us in the booth and all I could think about was why did I not take into account Jackson’s reaction to seeing Anthony. Should I have at least given him a heads up?
Hell no!
He never warned me about seeing his little rodent of a girlfriend.
When Jackson returned with our drinks, we were listening to a woman serenading one of Rita Ora’s “How We Do”. She sucked, but energy was appropriate. I felt heat on the side of my face, forcing me to glance up. That’s when I caught Jackson’s heated glower. He didn’t even try to hide it as Ashley danced in her seat under his arm. I couldn’t even look at him. It was hypocrisy at best.
“So, who’s going to represent DB up there?” Bridgette asked in jest…I thought.
Brad sat up and rested his elbows on the table. “My lady can handle it.” He grinned flirtatiously as he informed the table. His girlfriend turned beet red.
Cute.
My phone vibrated against my thigh.
Jackson: So whats the story with this one? He pees on cats?
“But she’s not DB.” Jamie argued. “It has to be someone from the team so we can look well rounded.”
Me: What?
Jackson: Your friend with the round belly. Whats his freak? The last one was a tri-sexual.
I rolled my eyes, shut off my phone and took a huge gulp of my drink.
“Elle can hold us down.”
The table went quiet. Anthony sat up in his chair, brows pinched in surprised.
“Oh, shit!” Jamie shouted.
I glanced down the table at Jackson, who so happened to be taking a sip of his…whatever the hell it was he drank. Couldn’t blame his sinister on the alcohol.
“Don’t do that, babe,” Ashley giggled. “You can’t just be throwing random people on your stage. There has to be a blend of good and bad talent or your place will get a poor reputation.”
My face dropped. Who did the little twat think couldn’t hold their own?
Chill, Elle. She’s a kid and you’re here on a date with a grown ass man. It wouldn’t be a good look beating the shit out of someone with the body of a damn 16 year old.
“You sing?” Anthony whispered with too familiar a proximity. I didn’t want to project my annoyance onto him.
“I play to entertain,” I offered.
“Well, Elle?” I heard from Jackson, down the table. His scowl was in place as his bearded jaws chomped down on ice.
“Shit! This gon’ be good!” Jamie cheered.
“Elle,” Marie from next to me tapped my thigh. “Don’t let them pressure you.” Her glower was similar to Jackson’s and I knew the cause of it was Jamie being here with another woman.
So glad I didn’t invite Clarice. And moving forward, I wouldn’t.
The next thing I saw was one of the staff in front me asking if I was ready to go on and he could squeeze me in. There was one person ahead, but they needed to acquaint me with the equipment. Bridgette and her fiancé began a “Go, Elle!” chant at the table, Jamie and Ashley laughed their adolescent asses off, Anthony remained quiet, likely in shock and Jackson, hid his arrogant grin behind his face full of whiskers.
“Sure.” I stood and followed the guy to the side of the stage.
There was a catalogue of music to choose from. I chose the jazz genre and after just two minutes or so, I made my choice of song. The woman at the control booth nodded and started to upload my selection and I moved over to the side to wait until my turn. I was livid, blood damn near boiling. But I didn’t know why. Was it because of Ashley being with Jackson once again and I didn’t understand his preference to her over Stephanie? Or was it because I knew he was upset with me for bringing Anthony unannounced when he was just at my apartment less that twenty-four hours ago caring for me?
If it were the latter, Jackson was being unreasonable. No feelings. Just sex. That was the agreement. Besides, I liked Anthony…I think. He was…safe. He made no demands and didn’t expect sex from me. Anthony was educated, worldly and my age. He may not have lived to th
e extent that I had, but he’d make a decent companion, I supposed. Jackson didn’t understand me. He didn’t understand my brokenness or my rationale for not wanting a future with a man…until recently. Shit, I didn’t know what the hell I was doing, or what I wanted. I just hoped he didn’t take anything personally.
I like him, too.
“You’re up, lady,” the guy informed me from the steps of the stage.
The moment I hit the short steps, the music cued and my nerves arrived. But it was too late. I was at the microphone and began to belt the lyrics to my marred soul. “Jezebel” by Sade wasn’t a cut I’d sung in public, but one I found myself humming while out on a rigorous run, reflecting on my past. I had certainly been that Jezebel who was pretty beyond what those around me were used to. I got it from strangers mostly, because family and schoolmates treated it as a flaw. I was always lighter and my hair was always finer than my peers. I never asked for it, didn’t like it. In fact on the worst days, I’d prayed to lose the features. I couldn’t identify my physical characteristics with anyone because I never knew who my dad was.
I would come home crying to my mother about being teased or even beat up because, what I now knew, some girl couldn’t handle the variance in our features. Then my mother married the Bishop and he had children. I’d finally had some semblance of a family. So I thought. Eugene, my stepbrother, managed his blatant attraction to me by manipulating me into sleeping with his friends. He was seven years older than me and while I worked for his attention he’d bargain it with requests to let his friends touch me—at least that’s how it started. By the time I was fourteen, I’d been conversant with blow jobs and working my way to full blown sex.
Funny thing was Eugene still never accepted me. He’d only let me go out with him when he’d be with his friends. We’d go to hotels or someone’s house and take different rooms to make out. At first I thought it was cool pleasing my big brother and having a man lust over me. I thought I was in control. That was until the one night, we were in the shed behind our home that Eugene converted into his miniature apartment, minus a kitchen. There were three rooms in there and I had one with Eugene’s friend, Willy. He was begging me to open my legs when letting him play with my breasts was no longer enough. Christ! I was only fifteen and had not had sex yet. I couldn’t tell him no, wouldn’t dare to. Eugene would be upset if his friend walked out of there disgruntled.
While he angrily implored me to open my legs so he could pull down my panties, the door burst open and entered my raging stepfather. His eyes assessed the room, but landed on me desperately trying to adjust the straps to my sundress. Willy was like a deer caught in headlights, fear emanating from each pore into the stiff air. Eugene shuffled in and rounded our father disheveled and barely hiding his imbibe, unleashing an Oscar-worthy performance.
“Elle, didn’t I tell you Willy wasn’t interested in you? He was only tolerating your conversation because you the good Bishop’s daughter,” Eugene grated. “C’mon, Willy. My daddy here now. He gon’ handle her.”
I waited for my stepfather to call his bluff and rebuke him. That wait was in vain. While Willy waited to gather the nerve to put one foot in front of the other, my father took two long lunges toward me and struck me with an open palm. I flew into the soiled floral upholstery of the sofa. The entire right side of my face enflamed with stinging intensity. The blow was so hard, I rolled onto the floor. When my vision cleared, I saw Willy still ghostly shocked, gaping at me. Eugene grabbed him hastily at the arm and hauled him out of the room, leaving me to face the wrath of the Bishop alone. Later that night, when I saw my face in the mirror, I was horrified by the rose swelling in the shape of hand on my face.
So, when I sang about how Jezebel walked, bringing the house down and winning them over with her beauty, I belted with conviction. That first punishment from the Bishop was only the beginning. Every winter was definitely a war…but the battle wasn’t seasonal. My promiscuity was cultivated by regular practice of it. When Eugene went off to college, I’d grown into a full blown harlot, only no one pulled the strings, but me. I had no coconspirator. I ran my own affairs.
My neck swayed to the live horn as I zoned out. Even now that I was past my Jezebel conducts, I owned my reputation. I wouldn’t hide from it, even if I wasn’t shouting it from the roof tops… But I was. I’d chosen this song for Jackson if he was upset for me bringing a man I wasn’t sleeping with to his club. He needed to know I was nowhere near what I’d come from. I wasn’t sleeping with Anthony. I was guarding my goodies from every willing man passing my way, was how my grandmother put it. I wasn’t out to get what’s mine anymore. I’d grown past that wayward mentality.
I didn’t realize the track was up until I heard glaring applause filling the room. With the spotlight and the smokiness from the equipment and stage lights, I couldn’t make out many faces in the crowd. The stage guy waved me down. It was someone else’s turn. I got it. This was a legitimate karaoke pub.
Instead of returning to my table, I made a beeline to the restrooms. I needed to pull myself together and relieve my bladder before my next drink because believe me, another cocktail was in the plans. When I was done, I weaved my way through the crowds and found our table. Anthony was standing, apparently anxious. That concerned me.
“Everything okay?” I asked the moment I approached him.
“It’s my mom.” His shoulders caved. “She’s concerned with being alone with the snow.”
“Oh.” I felt my face fold into an exaggerated moue.
It’s not like we’re expecting a snow storm. Why is she concerned?
“I’m going to head out. I need to stop and pick up a few things for her on my way.”
I felt even more jarred than I did leaving the stage, slyly baring my soul. I honestly didn’t make a conscious decision. I just started moving.
“You leaving singing bird?” Jamie asked as I grabbed my things, his face just as screwed as mine while talking to Anthony moments ago. “You have to tell us how you kept that voice a secret all this time. I feel tricked. How’d Hunter know?”
I offered a soft smile, but refused to answer that question no matter how innocent his intent.
“Sorry, guys. Have to cut this party short,” I announced.
“You’re leaving?” Marie shrieked.
I’m sure she didn’t want to stew alone in witnessing her lover, Jamie, with another woman. In some odd fashion, I felt the same. I didn’t relish seeing Ashley underneath Jackson’s arm.
There. I admitted it!
“Yeah. Anthony got a call.” My eyes regretfully swept past Jackson. His ever present glower was intensified it caused my eyes to retreat. “We need to beat the weather. I’ll check you guys out at the office on Monday.”
When I turned to face Anthony, he grabbed my coat hastily and held it out for me to put on. He was in a serious rush to get home to mommy. Anthony issued a parting wave to the table then turned to leave. I followed on his heels. Why I felt the need to look over my shoulders was beyond me. For some idiotic reason, I was curious to see what Jackson was doing. So I did it. I tossed a quick glance to find him burning a hole in my ass as I advanced behind Anthony.
I stood at the window in the living room of my efficiency, blinding observing the fall of white thick ice crystals descending on the city. Singing that song was a big mistake. It opened up old wounds. Fixated and ruminating, my mind wasn’t racing, just turning over the possibilities of my impending trip home. I’d be leaving this. My solitude. I’d be going into an uncontrolled environment. Here in New York, I could hide among the millions of bustling residents, commuters and tourists who didn’t give me a second glance. I wasn’t the beguiling beauty that no one understood here. I was a faceless body amid the masses. Here I felt comfort. In my new life, I padded myself with a small efficiency filled with ornaments that brought peace and created a new image of the perfect world for me. Unlike back in West Virginia.
At least Eugene won’t be there.
&
nbsp; That fact made the prospect less insufferable. Still, it was an event I wasn’t looking forward to. My mind had been churning with this trip since I left Anthony in front of Q’s Karaoke Joint an hour ago as we slipped inside our respective cabs. The funny thing was that I debated telling him about me going out of town because isn’t that something you tell a guy when you were at the point of meeting his mother? But I definitely wouldn’t tell him I wasn’t going alone. That would be weird. Right?
And Jackson…
Why would I sing that song? Out of all the ones I could have selected to save face from him, why that one? It would be no wonder if he didn’t want to lay a finger on me again. How many times must I shove down his throat my promiscuity? Former promiscuity. I’ve shaken the need to use my body to manipulate men and sometimes get back at their women for shunning me. Now, I work in public relations using new tools to reshape others’ perception. But Jackson won’t get to know this new person if I continue acquainting him with my old whorish behavior.
Why did I care what he thought of me?
Fuck him.
If he couldn’t accept the scars that weren’t visible, why would I give a damn? No one would ever condemn me for my past transgressions. The same would go for Anthony if I decided to give our dating a serious chance. If he wouldn’t be okay with my blemished past, then fuck him, too! Ellen Ann Greene was no more and Elle A. Jarreau had shaken all the debris of lowliness, inferiority, needing to impress to fit in, and the desire to belong. I’d accepted that just like each flake my vision could follow, I was a unique and beautifully designed being, blending with the rest.
The knock on the door startled my feet off the floor. When I landed, I grabbed my chest in complete panic.
“Who is it?” I grated, already annoyed at being disturbed.
I hadn’t been home a full hour before Michael’s irking ass was tapping demanding at my door.
I yanked the door open and my chest dropped.
His aggressive gait into my apartment was led by his broadened shoulders. His glower was intact as he inspected the small box of the place. He glanced inside the bathroom, which was immediately off to the left before advancing into the living room where he scanned behind my partitioned black sheer curtains for my queen sized bed. I remained aghast at the door and watched his inspection.
